


pennsylvania

by weerwolfs



Category: The Deer Hunter
Genre: Cute??, Fluff, M/M, Repression, Yearning, heyboyschat, lowkey smut, might have more smut later? who knows, nomentionofwar, someromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weerwolfs/pseuds/weerwolfs
Summary: some romantic scenes from mike and nicky’s relationship as they discover and come to terms with their love for each other
Relationships: Nikanor "Nick" Chevotarevich/Michael "Mike" Vronsky
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. pie

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to ash, soph, andie, simon and dan

Mike was never a particularly good chef. He was decent enough- living on his own, cooking microwave meals five days a week was the usual. Hell, he could make a mean macaroni and cheese dinner. The thing was that Nick was much more of a picky eater than he was and frankly if things weren't up to standard for him he'd be out. Impressing Nicky- now that would take effort.

Mike returned from the store with enough ingredients to make a pie. Actually learning how to make the pie would be a completely different story, but for now he had what he needed to make one. As he cleared out the kitchen table he began to ponder the very reason as to why he was doing this in the first place. Mike wasn't a dessert type of guy and he wouldn't have put this kind of effort in to impress any of his other friends. He thought about poisoning Stan and laughed. As he rummaged through the cupboards for the old cookbook he found in there yesterday he came to the conclusion that he was doing this out of a deep friendliness. Nick was his friend. He liked Nick. Hell, he liked Nick a lot. He was a great guy. He'd go as far to saying he was a pretty guy, with his floppy blonde hair and bright eyes and gap toothed grin. An all around good looking, nice guy. Smart and funny and charming. A guy's guy. Good guy friend.

As he worked Mike thought about Nick's lips. Now that was an image that crossed his mind often. They were thin and salmon pink and Mike thought he'd quite like to feel how they felt beneath his fingers. Was that strange of him? Was that something that friends often thought about each other? He thought about cupping Nick's chin in his palm and running his thumb across his lips, feeling whether they were chapped or if they were smooth or if they trembled under his touch. He thought about slipping a finger in and feeling the warmth beneath Nick's tongue. Then he got out the eggs and started cooking.

Mike set the pie in the oven and brought up a stool. He watched the pastry glisten. He'd made a blueberry pie. A good percentage of the contents were spilled across the kitchen table and the checkered pattern over the filling leant more towards abstract art than any real sort of criss-cross style. Mike wondered if Nick would think of it as any more charming than a store bought pie. Then Mike wondered if he should've bought a pie at the shop and passed it as his own. If he were planning to do that it would be too late now anyways- shops closed early today and Nick said he was arriving at 7- knowing him, that meant anytime between 7:10 and 7:30. Fashionably late but not too late to cause an upset. Enough time for the host to fix any small things lying around, like the six eggshells on the countertop or the bag of flour upside down in the sink. The time was 6:30. The pie glimmered from within the oven.

7:00. Nick would be here soon and the pie was still cooking. Mike had cleared up the table and laid out forks and knives and was now anxiously awaiting the chime of the oven. He should've rushed to the store. 

Recently the two men had been spending more time together- Linda was working a tighter shift and didn't seem to be hanging around Nick like she used to. Often Mike and Nick would spend whole days together, whiling hours away at the bar, going hunting on the weekends, having dinners together like they would be doing now. He'd brought up the topic of Linda to Nick on various occasions, but he never seemed interested in having that conversation. Mike just assumed they were experiencing some sort of friction. Linda was a beautiful girl; Mike had thought about settling down with her before, and he supposed that that was the reason as to why he quite liked the idea of Nick's (temporary) separation from her. Sure he'd thought about how she'd look in the lamplight of his bedroom, but then again, he'd thought that way about Nick too. He'd thought about how Nick would look under him on a fresh white sheet. Would he squirm or would he lay still and look him dead in the eye, daring him, urging him to act and do something he'd regret? He'd thought about Nick planting wet kisses on the sides of his neck and by his ears and on his chest. He'd thought about Nick leaving a trail of saliva on his stomach as, with his tongue, he slowly traced along the line of hair to his trousers. He'd thought about that a lot. As a good friend does.

There came a knock at the door. Nick burst in. He had the keys.

"Nicky!" Mike's thoughts were interrupted by a welcome intruder.

"Michael!" Nick held a six-pack of beer. He set it down on the table and grinned at Mike. 

Mike spread his arms. They embraced.

"You smell nice, Mike- you been cooking?" Nick hadn't broken the hug- he spoke into the back of Mike's neck, so close that Mike felt the hum of Nick's throat on his cheek. He shuddered.

"Yeah, I've cooked." Mike didn't break the hug. He wanted to see who would do it first. He wanted to see if someone would do it at all.

Nick smelt good- like some sort of floral perfume mixed with the sweaty foresty scent typical of northern Pennsylvania. He wore a dark sweater and jeans and he'd washed his hair- Mike could smell the sweet shampoo and he felt the soft blonde locks tickling his chin. Nick's breathing was slow and Mike paid close attention to the rise and fall of his chest against his own. 

Now Mike found his fingers trailing down Nick's back. They seemed to move on their own, subconsciously. He felt along the bend of Nicky's shoulder blades, along his spine, slowly, softly, the type of touch that falls somewhere between a graze and a stroke. Nick didn't say anything. Mike didn't acknowledge this- if no one spoke, the moment would be unreal. Without a register of the situation it could go on in silence forever. His fingers played at the bend of Nick's hip. He thought about placing it there as you would with a woman you'd like to dance with. He thought about dancing with Nick in the living room in the dark light of dawn to the music of their own breaths.

It became unbearable.

"What?" Mike broke the silence.

"You gonna let me go?" Nick murmured.

Mike let him go. They looked at each other. Nick's eyes bore into him, a faint smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"I made you a pie," Mike managed to say. 

"Great," Nick said.

Mike averted his gaze. He ducked away and made towards the oven.

"It isn't great. I fucked up the crust, see," Mike couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with Nick again. He reached in to bring out the pie...

"SHIT!" 

Mike jolted back from the oven. He'd burnt himself. His two front fingers glowed hot red. He rushed to the sink, reeling, blowing hard on coarse skin.

Nick stood in the way.

"Fuck's the matter with you? Move!" Mike's fingers were going numb.

Suddenly Nick reached for Mike's wrist. He held it for a second, then brought it up to his face. 

"You didn't wear mitts," he said.

"No fucking shit!" Mike shouted.

Nick tightened his grip. He blew, slowly, on the tips of Mike's quivering fingers. Then he met Mike's eyes. The men stared at each other, one trembling, one still. Nick gave Mike a quick, curt nod, and a mutual understanding fell upon them- Nick not so much asking permission, more telling Mike what he was about to do. Mike was silent. He didn't resist. He looked away as Nick smiled, very briefly, a knowing smile. He guided Mike's fingers towards his chin. Then he let Mike's fingers rest on the curve of his lips. Mike ran his rough fingers along them in silence- Nick's lips were dry and smooth and warm and Mike thought he'd quite like to feel them pressed against his own, under his teeth, under his tongue. He had upon his face a look of stunned wonder, childish fascination. Then he slipped his fingers into Nick's mouth. First there came a sensation of pain- his burnt fingers against the heat of Nick's tongue- but he kept them in there. He felt Nick smile, his teeth against the tops of his fingers. Mike tore his gaze from his own fingers and met Nick's eyes. Nick had been staring at him the whole time. They maintained eye contact as Nick sucked on his fingers, sliding them deeper into his mouth, slowly, not letting go of his wrist, letting his tongue flit through the bends and arches smoothly. The pain became muffled- a sort of afterthought. The only thing Mike could think about was Nick. Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick. His fingers going in and out and over and under his tongue, staring each other down, each daring the other to take it to the next level.

Nick leaned in closer to Mike and lifted his fingers out of his mouth. He looked at him for a while with his dark green eyes and his wet lips glistening and the kitchen light casting shadows across his nose and cheekbones. 

"Let's eat," he said.

So they ate.


	2. the radio at 10pm on a monday

It was a Monday and Nick was, simply put, fucking tired. Work had dragged on and on and his back ached and his arms trembled under any sort of weight. He'd driven home alone after the shift was over and sat in the living room for a while, just thinking to himself.

Nicky was the type of guy who thought too deeply and too much. Not to say he was a visionary, or idealistic- he just found himself thinking about everything, all the time. Thinking, more often than not, made way to daydreams. Nick was realistic when he daydreamed. Not the sort to fantasize about being rich or owning a nice car- more like a little café, some children, a dog. A loving spouse. Maybe a bigger house, further from the factory, closer to the mountains. That was all he wanted in life. He wasn't an overachiever and he was smart enough to know he wouldn't ever amount to much at this age: he just believed love was something that was owed to him. 

Yesterday was odd. Nicky had visited Mike's house for dinner. Nothing particularly strange with that- it had become a rather enjoyable habit. But Nick had felt something different there. Something had shifted. Something clicked in his brain and he acted accordingly. Mike was sending all the right signals and he picked up on them before the other man did. He and Mike shared something then that they didn't talk about for the rest of the evening and refused to acknowledge this morning at work. Whenever Nick tried to meet Mike's eyes, to start a conversation, all he'd get in return would be a curt nod. They hadn't spoken all day. Nick wasn't regretting doing the things he did- Mike didn't push him away, Mike enjoyed it. He just needed time to come to terms with it, and Nick understood that. It took a while for him to come to terms with it too. He just missed talking to Mike. He was sick of waiting.

10 PM. Linda had arrived earlier, then left hurriedly before dinner (following a call from her father). Nicky sat on the sofa alone, adjusting the radio halfheartedly. He craned his neck around to hear a car coming up the road. He froze, then squinted to make out the license plate in the dark.

"Mike!" He got up from the sofa and adjusted his t-shirt, washed and ironed and clinging to his thin frame. Nicky went to open the door.

Mike. Tall, broad, bearded and dark-eyed. The wind tousled his hair and Nick thought about how much paler he looked in the nighttime. Then he thought about yesterday. Then the rest of the thoughts he'd pent up all day came flooding out.

Nick didn't know how to begin.

"Hey Nicky." Mike lingered by the door. 

Mike wasn't carrying any beer with him. That was a surprise- a welcome surprise nonetheless, seeing as it was a weekday and all. He looked nervous.

"You can come in if you want," Nick said. He felt the tremors in his arms start up again and folded them.

Mike still stood there in the doorway. It seemed as though he'd forgotten completely what it was he wanted to say to Nick, what he'd driven out all this way to do.

"Hey. You can come in," Nick repeated.

"Thanks," Mike mumbled, pushing past Nick on his way in, his coarse jacket brushing against Nick's bare arms. He shivered and closed the door behind him.

Mike was draping his jacket over the armchair.

"Can we talk?" he didn't look up.

"We're talking," Nick said.

"Yesterday..." Mike began.

"Mike, if I got out of line back there, I'm sorry," Nick felt his heart sink. Maybe he got everything wrong. Maybe Mike wasn't sending him any signals at all- maybe Nick was just looking too hard for them. But it felt so real- he really thought Mike was feeling something, asking for something. He really thought...

"No. No, it wasn't you," Mike said. He looked up. 

Their eyes met.

"Can we just forget that that ever happened? Please?" Mike pleaded. "Look, it's not that I don't like you, Nick. I do, I love you, you're a good friend. But it's... not... it doesn't work like that."

Nick felt his blood run cold. God knows he'd run over this exact scene in his head time and time again. Each time Mike would say more or less this same thing, "It doesn't work like that", but there'd always be a catch.

"But... I can make it work."

"But... I don't care."

"But... I love you, Nick."

Where was the catch this time?

"Sure, yeah, I get it," Nick mumbled. "You want a beer or something?"

"You got coffee?" Mike sat down on the sofa with a sigh.

"At 10 on a Monday? Coffee?" Nick cracked a weak smile.

"Don't think I'll be sleeping tonight," Mike said.

"What about tea instead? Maybe that's better than a coffee at this time?" Nick headed for the pantry.

"Sure, whatever." Mike leaned back, put his feet up on the table.

Nick didn't have to turn around to recognize the soft thump of shoes on wood. "Feet down." 

"Sorry," Mike said.

Nick poured water into the kettle and set it on the stove. He thought about going over and sitting next to Mike and telling him to just let it out, let everything out, because he understood. If anyone in the world could understand Mike it was Nick. As Nick pulled out the tea bags he remembered the feel of Mike's hands, warm and coarse, brushing against the slight bend of his hip. He remembered Mike's fingers in his mouth, red-hot beneath his tongue, the salty taste of his sweat that remained on his breath for hours. That couldn't have been just friendly. No friend fondles the other and sticks their fingers in his mouth. He wanted to move on so bad, like Mike said, but they couldn't go back to what once was. He felt something for Mike, he knew that now. And he just knew Mike felt something for him too.

"Feet down, Mike." Nick hadn't heard the thudding of Mike's shoes against the floor yet. Safe to say they were still on the table.

"Make me," Mike challenged.

Nicky turned around. It wasn't that this was anything unconventional- this was a friend thing, they'd say it to each other all the time- but the circumstances were different. If a single touch from Mike on the way in through the door could make him shiver so, he'd surely die if Mike were to hold him. 

"Make you?" Nick repeated dumbly.

"Yeah. Come on." Mike stretched out his arms, leaned back, gave Nick a wide grin.

"Fuck you. Get your shoes off the table, Michael." Nick turned back around to put the tea bags into the mugs.

"Make me, Nick. Come on, get me to take em off," Mike called.

He took a deep breath. "You fucking asked for it." Nick spun back around. He walked over to Mike and grabbed his shoe. He lifted it up off the table, then placed it down on the floor. Then he did the same to the other.

Nick looked up at Mike, legs outstretched on the sofa, illuminated by the kitchen light, glowing against the darkness of the evening outside. The warmth in the cabin painted red blossoms on Mike's cheeks. 

Mike grinned and put his feet back on the table. Nick moved to put them down again-

And Mike pulled Nicky down to the sofa. His hands around his waist, even for that brief second; Nick felt himself shaking, breath catching in his throat. They struggled on the sofa, Nick under Mike, struggling to get up, Mike pinning him down. Playing like little kids. Both men panting and grinning, their hands all over each other. 

"Fuck you," Nick gasped.

Nick stopped struggling. He fell limp beneath Mike, taking shallow breaths, feeling the weight of the other man on his thighs, smelling his cologne, his shampoo, his sweat. Mike was holding onto Nick's arms, pinning him to the sofa, sitting atop his legs, grinning down at him like a mad dog. Nick knew Mike could feel the pulse in his wrists. He hoped he could sense how fast his heart was beating with the other man on top of him.

They fell silent. If anything were to happen, surely it'd happen now...

"Nick..." Mike shook his head, shifted, tried to get up.

"Stop." Nick held onto Mike's forearms. "Look at me."

Mike looked at Nick. They looked at each other. God, Nick could look at Mike forever. He wanted so bad for the other man to lean in, to kiss him right now, to seal the deal- to eliminate the idea of their being just friends. Let it happen now- God forbid he live any longer knowing what could've been. He sensed Mike moving closer to him- he felt the heat of Mike's breath on his chin, smelt the faint tang of beer. They were so close now that their noses would meet if they got any closer...

"The kettle's going off," Mike said. He leaned back, got off of Nick.

"Oh. Yeah," Nick breathed. He slowly rose to his feet and walked over to the kettle. Shakily, he poured the water into the mugs. He felt as though he were dreaming- he'd wanted things to happen quicker, and now that they were, his body had left his mind behind in the dust. Was he about to faint? He moved through time like a ghost- like he was swimming in a deep, deep lake. Everything was fuzzy. He shut his eyes. Pull yourself together, Nicky. Get over it. Wake up. 

The brush of a hand behind him. Nicky's heart skipped a beat. Mike.

The warm hands clasped on to Nicky's shoulders. They held him with a gentle strength- they could fasten at any minute, break Nicky's bones, or they could lift off of him with a whisper. Nicky didn't want to turn around. He kept pouring the tea. 

The hands began to wander. They trailed down Nicky's back, over his bare arms. Nicky trembled at their calloused heat upon the slender bend of his elbow. They moved with a grace unexpected from a steel worker. It was as though Nicky was fragile China- Mike's hands the feather duster, brushing off the dirt. Mike leaned in closer to Nicky, breath hot on his ear, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He rested his chin on curve of Nicky's neck. Nick felt the roughness of Mike's beard against his collarbones as his hands slowly reached Nick's hips. 

"Put down the kettle," Mike whispered. "Dance with me."

Nicky set the kettle down.

"Come on, dance with me." Mike held on to Nick's hips tighter. Nick felt an immense heat rushing up to his cheeks.

The radio played faintly in the background. 

You're just too good to be true...

Nick found himself turning around. He felt as though he were glowing red. Mike didn't let go of his hips as he pulled him away from the kitchen table.

Can't take my eyes off of you...

Nick's hands slid along Mike's firm arms and rested on his shoulders. 

You'd be like heaven to touch...

They seemed to glide along the wooden floor, in perfect time with one another, Nick gently guiding Mike through the room and Mike holding onto Nick tight as they went.

I wanna hold you so much...

It was barely a dance. Mike held Nick as though he were seconds from slipping through his fingers, as though he were a sacred object. They spun around the room to the muffled radio, slowly, faces inches from one another, neither man daring to look the other in the eye. 

"Mike..." Nick started.

"I know, I know," Mike sighed. He spun Nick around and dipped him. "I can't help it."

Mike's arm supporting Nick's back, inches from the ground- Nick trembling, giving himself up completely to the other man, knowing he could fall at any moment yet trusting Mike completely. The comforting warmth of his hand against the arch of Nick's back- if only he could hold it there forever. Let time stop now- let it pause, just once, for Nick to cherish this heat forever. The fingers, the play fighting, the dancing- God, Nick couldn't take it anymore.

"What do you want from me, Mike?" Nick spoke slowly, enunciating each word, remaining calm, maintaining his cool. 

Mike brought Nicky to his feet, slowly pulling him back up to look at him face to face. He didn't let go.

"Nick, we both know what's going on here," Mike said.

"I don't. I don't know. You don't talk to me all day, you come into my house, you tell me to forget everything, you put your shoes on my table-"

"Enough about the fuckin' shoes!"

"But do you get it, Mike? You're not making any sense to me. I don't get what you want. What do you want?"

They spoke so close to one another that Nick saw his spittle glisten in the hairs of Mike's beard, their breaths hot in each other's faces.

"What do I want?" Mike asked.

"Yeah-"

Mike leant in and kissed Nick. It was a fierce kiss, a passionate kiss, a long fucking overdue kiss. Mike pulled Nick closer to him- Nick felt their bodies press together tighter. Mike tasted like whiskey. They were both shaking-yet Mike didn't pull away. Nick was melting into the wooden floor. Running out of breath. If he could choose to die right now, right here, he'd do it. Finally Nick tore his lips away.

"Good friend, huh," Nick panted.

"I fucking love you," Mike said.


End file.
